


Lullaby

by annieoakley1



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1356427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annieoakley1/pseuds/annieoakley1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s their unspoken tradition, this reunion in the Meadow after the reaping. Panem AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullaby

She has never seen the boy with the bread in the Meadow before, but today is a day of firsts.

Her father frowned when she asked for some time alone after the reaping. He reminded her that her mother is preparing a special dinner for her (it’s going to be their new tradition, he said- a way to celebrate her safekeeping for another year), but she had insisted that she wouldn’t be gone long, and now here she is, physically closer to Peeta Mellark than ever before.

It takes nearly all of her courage to manage a simple hello, but she thinks it’s worth it when she’s rewarded with a beautiful smile. Unsure, she tentatively takes a seat next to him, and together they look up at the clear sky. It’s unfair how lovely the weather is today; Thalia Erwin and Cord Dunbryl, District 12 tributes for the 70th Hunger Games, deserve dark clouds and cold rain.

She turns to watch him, surreptitiously checking for any hint of the bruise. But it’s long gone; it’s been months since he tossed her that bread and took a beating for it, and the purple mark faded with time. ‘What did she hit you with?’ she wants to ask him. She won’t though. They’re both content to sit in silence.

An hour passes comfortably, and she really should be heading home now. Her father is still recovering from his injury, and while her mother seems to be back to her old self, Katniss is still untrusting. She remembers the weeks of silence as her father lay unconscious and her mother nearly catatonic with grief. There was no small payout from the mines as long as her father breathed, and there was no food, no prospect of food. Desperate, she stole one of her mother’s old dresses and tried to sell it in town, but no one would look her way.

She thought she just might die right there under the Mellarks’ apple tree, and a part of her wished she would. Even the community home seemed more appealing than returning home empty-handed to a father who might never awake and a mother who stared off into space.

Then she heard the noise from inside the bakery, and the baker’s wife yelling at her youngest. Peeta appeared a few moments later…

“It’s worse than I thought it would be,” he says now, and it feels like it takes her a whole minute to gather her wits and respond.

“What do you mean?”

“The reaping. I knew I would be scared today, but it was worse than I thought. And I thought I’d feel better after, and I do, but…”

“I know,” she agrees quietly, and they both stop to listen to the birds singing on the other side of the fence.

A part of her thinks she should thank him now, for both their sakes, but the words are lodged in her throat and she can’t speak them. Instead, she watches him again, and then she leans in and softly presses her lips near his cheekbone, right over the spot where the bruise blossomed.

He stills immediately and she pulls back, bewildered by what she just did. She scrambles to her feet and runs, and the sound of her heartbeat drowns out his desperate plea for her to stop.

At home, her mother prepares roasted rabbit and katniss tubers for dinner, but it tastes like sawdust in her mouth. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to enjoy a meal on reaping day.

It’s a lousy tradition.

~*~

Her own tradition, she decides the next year, will be the Meadow, and Peeta Mellark must have the same idea because he’s already there when she arrives.

“Hello,” he says as soon as she approaches. Her first instinct is to run, but this is her place, and if anyone should leave, it should be the merchant.

“Hello,” she returns coldly, but he only smiles back at her.

In the full year that passed, he did not speak a single word to her, and she looked away every time his eyes found hers at school. It’s as if her moment of stupidity never happened. A small part of her aches at the thought, that her kiss, chaste as it may have been, had no effect on him. But it’s for the best if it’s forgotten, especially if they’re going to share the Meadow on this wretched day.

He begins to talk, and her brow furrows as she tries to keep up, because he’s speaking about everything and her mind is still stuck in the past. He tells her about his brothers and what they’re doing on reaping day now that the oldest is free. He describes the cake he is decorating for an upcoming toasting. He mentions the squirrels her father trades at the bakery, and asks if she ever goes with him when he hunts.

He asks how her father is doing now, over a year after the accident. He asks if she hates the mines, because he would. He asks question after question, never caring that she only responds in clipped, one word answers, if she responds at all. It’s as if he’s desperate to talk, desperate to get her to talk, desperate to kill the silence before its first breath.

Then he stops, mid sentence, and his eyes are almost wild as they meet hers. The sun is setting, the fireflies are dancing all around them, but neither notices anything but the other. He makes the first move, inching in closer, as if he’s testing the water with the tips of his toes. She doesn’t pull away or push him away, so he continues until their faces are lined up perfectly- eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, mouth-to-mouth.

When his lips first touch hers, all she can register is how warm they are, how warm he is. Then she kisses him back, her body reacting before her brain, and somewhere in the grass his hand finds hers.

She doesn’t run off this time. It’s nearly dark and her celebratory supper is surely cold by now, but Peeta deserves a goodbye, even if it’s difficult to use words when her mind is still on the kiss.

“I have to go home now,” she tells him as she stands, and he nods in understanding as she brushes dirt off the back of her skirt.

Now he’s the quiet one, and she doesn’t know what to make of that as she spins on her heel and starts jogging toward her small house in the Seam. Her parents are angry with her for staying out so long and the dinner is lukewarm, but that doesn’t matter since she can’t taste it anyway. No, all she can taste is Peeta’s lips against hers, and it’s all she can think about for a long time after, too.

It’s a good distraction, and a great tradition. Already she wonders if he will be there next year as well, and she hopes he is, even if she knows she shouldn’t wish for such things.

~*~

Mal Woodstone was her neighbor. She was the same age as her. She looked a lot like her. She could have been her.

 

Already Katniss is thinking of her in the past tense because Mal was as good as dead as soon as Effie Trinket called her name.

She runs to the Meadow, her sides burning as her feet hit the ground. She is a blue breeze as she flies to the one place she can feel safe now, and her mother’s dress is soiled with sweat by the time she arrives.

Peeta stands when she appears, and she rushes into his arms and melts in his embrace. She doesn’t want to cry, but she can’t hold it in when she thinks about Mal. The guilt she feels is a crushing weight against her chest, but she still wants to shout out in relief because it’s Mal and not her, and it could have been her. So easily it could have been her.

And it could have been Peeta’s name called today, too. Yet he’s safe and wrapped up around her, as strong and steady as ever and alive for another year.

Her lips find his this time, and she doesn’t stop with a sweet caress because that’s not enough now, not when she doesn’t know if they’ll both be here next time.

“Katniss?” he questions as she tugs at his clothes, and she stops him from talking with another kiss. He loses himself in it, then pulls back with a look of confusion as her fingers work the buttons of his white dress shirt. “Katniss, stop.”

But she doesn’t because she can’t. She has no idea what she’s doing as she fumbles with his belt buckle, but she wants more. Her hand travels over the front of his pants, and it almost scares her when she feels him hard against her palm, but then her body and instinct take over. This is what she needs, she rationalizes. This is what they both need this time.

“Wait,” Peeta begs her, his voice catching as she runs her hand over him again. “Please, wait.”

“Touch me,” she pleads, but he’s unmoving as she pushes his pants off his hips. She doesn’t pull his undershorts down with his slacks because she wants him to want her like this, too. Physically, he’s there already, but he’s glassy-eyed and stiff as she waits for him to reciprocate.

Finally he cups her waist, but it’s a timid touch and seems to be all he’s willing to offer. But this won’t do. It won’t do at all.

This is the first year she’s worn her mother’s dress to the reaping. She still fit in the ruffled blouse and skirt she wore to the first two, but her mother offered something special this morning, and presented her with the light blue dress and matching shoes. Katniss allowed it, and she pretended to not notice as her mother sniffled softly while braiding her hair. A part of her was annoyed that her mother couldn’t be stronger, even on reaping day, but then her father pulled her aside and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I know what today means to you, but try not to be too hard on your mama, okay? It ain’t easy seeing your only baby in the reaping.”

She rips at the zipper now, trying to claw the material off her as she begs Peeta, yet again, to just touch her. Her lips are on his neck, her hands traversing every peak and valley of his body, and she is out of her mind.

He’s shaking almost imperceptibly, and she’s not here anymore. Katniss is somewhere else, somewhere far away, outside of the fence and outside of Panem. She’s somewhere safe.

The crazed girl who stands in front of Peeta now is a stranger. The stranger wraps her arms around him and writhes against him. She revels in the feel of him hard against her, while Katniss would never be able to look him in the eye at this point. “Touch me,” the stranger says again, her voice deep and desperate, another unrecognizable thing to Katniss.

She wants his hands to move down, but he won’t venture there, not even as she opens his shirt and presses her body to his.

Then she says the one thing she hasn’t yet, in a small voice that she would know anywhere as her own. “Please?”

The cool grass feels good against her skin as he lowers them to the ground, and it’s tall enough to hide them as they explore each other. He doesn’t know what he’s doing either, but their bodies work out what their minds can’t, and soon he’s between her thighs and pushing into her. It hurts, but she hopes he thinks she’s crying over the reaping or Mal or their damn luck to be born when and where they were.

His apologies become soft moans as he begins to move inside her, and the hands that wouldn’t touch her earlier are suddenly everywhere at once. She grits her teeth as the fire spreads when he thrusts harder and faster. “I love you so much,” he whispers, and the words take her by such surprise that she forgets to hurt.

It doesn’t last much longer after that. She holds on tight to him as his body shudders against hers, and she stares up into the sun until she can’t stand it. When she finally looks away, all she can see are neon spots.

After, he kisses her. It’s the same sweet and soft kiss they shared the year before, and she thinks that it’s what they were meant to do again before she ruined everything. They’re both quiet as they fix their clothing, and she wonders if her mother will look at her dress and then look at her and instantly know what she’s done.

“I-I’ll, uh, I guess I’ll see you in school,” he says, and he scratches at the back of his neck and doesn’t look up from his shoes.

“Yeah,” she replies dumbly.

“You can talk to me, you know,” he adds quickly. “And I’ll talk to you. Any time you want. It doesn’t have to be like it’s been.”

“Okay.” But she already knows she won’t say a word to him until this time next year, if he’s foolish enough to show again.

The thought that he won’t fills her with so much pain that she can’t even say goodbye, and she runs back home with her mother’s shoes in her hand. A sharp rock slices open her bare heel on the way, and she barely flinches. She deserves it.

Her parents are pleasantly surprised she’s home so soon, and her mother embraces her before turning back to the stove. “I’m sorry about Mal,” her father tells her, and she collapses against his chest and cries, but not because of Mal.

They skip the celebratory dinner that night, and when her father hands her bakery bread to have with the simple stew, she has to fight back tears again. What did she do today?

~*~

“Are you feeling alright?” her mother asks her, and Katniss bristles at the question. Every day, for weeks now, her mother has scrutinized her over the dinner table. “Something seems off,” she’ll say. “Do you feel sick?”

“No,” she answers brusquely, stabbing at her food.

But something is wrong, and it’s Katniss. Today, Peeta tried to approach her again in the schoolyard, and she ran from him, but not without missing the flash of hurt on his face as she did it. Now she’s sure he won’t try it again, and she should feel relief about it but all she feels is the dull ache that she’s felt ever since that day.

“Mal will be arriving from the Capitol soon,” her mother says, and Katniss nods.

“Will you visit her?” her father asks, and Katniss shakes her head, sure the victor of the 72nd Hunger Games has more on her mind than catching up with the neighbor girl she hardly knew.

“The Harvest Festival will be nice this year,” her mother intones, and again Katniss nods.

“Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?” her father asks.

Katniss eats the last bite from her plate and abruptly stands. “Maybe I am. I’m going to go to bed.”

~*~

She runs her hand over her stomach and counts the months in her head. Four. Four months since her time with Peeta. Four months she hasn’t bled.

There were plenty of times she missed her monthly before, and she never paid attention to that because it didn’t matter, but now, as she feels her swelling abdomen, she realizes for the first time that there is more than one reason they shouldn’t have ever done what they did that day.

‘It’s your fault,’ she tells herself. ‘Now what are you going to do?’

Where is that stranger now, she wonders. Where is she now when there is this mess to clean up?

It may be nothing, she reasons. For all she knows, her monthly may arrive tomorrow. Maybe that’s why she feels how she does. Off.

“Something’s off,” as her mother says.

Her breasts ache and she feels swollen and tired because of her monthly.

She knows she’s a wreck but she needs to pretend a little longer.

~*~

“Katniss,” her mother says, calling her into the next room. “Your father and I need to speak with you.”

Another month passed without blood, and Katniss is struggling to hide her stomach from her parents. She is thankful for the cold because it allows her to wear layers of oversized clothes that dwarf her small frame and hide the physical evidence of her greatest mistake. But she can’t hide much longer. Not at home.

She takes her seat at the kitchen table and waits for her parents to start to speak, but they only stare back at her expectantly.

“Katniss, we don’t understand what’s happening with you right now,” her father says, finally breaking the silence.

“If we didn’t know better,” her mother adds, her eyes dropping to Katniss’s midsection. She trails off, the words unspoken because they don’t make sense.

But Katniss’s tears tell them all they need to know, and she wipes angrily at her eyes. She’s cried too much already and she won’t keep doing it.

“Katniss,” her father says with disbelief. “That can’t be.”

“Who?” her mother demands now. “When did this happen and who were you with?”

She tries to imagine what would happen if the name fell from her mouth now. She can picture her father trekking angrily to the bakery to confront the Mellarks. She can see the matching looks of confusion on Peeta and the baker’s faces, and the cold, pinched stare from the baker’s wife. What would the witch say? She once hit Peeta so hard his eye swelled shut, and that was over burnt bread. What would she do to him if she found out he fathered a child with Seam trash? It’s unthinkable.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says immediately, straightening in her seat. “He didn’t even want to. It was my idea.”

“When?”

She’s never seen her parents this angry before, and they’ve never been so stern with her. She recoils in her seat, answering with trepidation. “Reaping day.”

“Reaping day?” her mother repeats, and then the confusion gives way to more anger. “That was over five months ago, Katniss! What were you thinking? What have you been thinking?”

“She wasn’t thinking,” her father answers for her, and the look on his face breaks her heart just a little more. “That’s the entire problem! She wasn’t thinking at all!”

“I never expected you to do something like this,” her mother says, and Katniss sits there and absorbs every one of their verbal blows. The disbelief, the disappointment, the anger and frustrations…she deserves this wrath and she’ll take her punishment.

When they are zapped of all their willpower, her parents slump in their seats and approach the situation differently. “It’s too late to take care of it,” her mother tells her. “If you came to me earlier, if you were honest…”

It stings more than she thought, and Katniss can’t look at her as she continues.

“I don’t know what they’ll do,” her mother says, tears springing to her eyes now. “You’ll have to have the baby and I don’t know what they’ll do to you-”

Her mother dissolves into sobs, and her father is there to hold her as she shakes. It’s as if Katniss isn’t even in the room in that moment, even as she cries for her.

Many teenage girls in Katniss’s situation have come to her mother for help before, and her mother was always willing and able, because not helping meant they risked the Capitol’s ire. Their conditions were already desperate, but the Capitol could always make things worse, something no one deserved.

Katniss should have gone to her months ago and confessed, but she was desperate to avoid the looks they were giving her now. The baby might have been gone after a few herbal drinks and several days of cramping and pain, but the disappointment her parents felt would live a lifetime. For once she held out hope, but she’ll never make that mistake again.

But surely there had to be plenty of girls in reaping age who didn’t choose to end the pregnancy. Katniss tries to think of examples, but the only names she can conjure are of older girls, ones near the end of reaping or already out.

“Katniss, go to the bedroom. Your mama and I have to talk alone.”

She does as she is told and leaves, and once she’s on the mattress and there’s a wall safely between them, she allows herself to cry. Not for her parents and what she did to them, or for Peeta, who is unknowingly now a part of this mess. Not even for the helpless child growing inside of her. She cries for herself, because she’s still a child, too, and she has never been so scared in her life.

Her tears exhaust her further until she falls asleep, and when she wakes, for a brief moment, everything is okay. Then she remembers why it’s really not and it won’t ever be again.

“Come talk with us,” her mother says, and she helps her into the kitchen.

Her father is already at the table, and they’re eating a small dinner of squirrel and wild carrots. A plate is set for her but she doesn’t think she can eat anything at the moment.

“I went to the Justice Building,” her father says, and she feels her stomach lurch. “And I spoke to the Capitol official.”

“We’re going to tell everyone that you’re sick,” her mother says. “You won’t go back to school until after the baby is born.”

“What? But…how?”

“The official said this should remain as quiet as possible, so you were given permission to finish your lessons here. You won’t be allowed to leave the house.”

“But what about the baby?”

Her father looks away as he chews his food, and her mother reaches across the table to take her hand. “We’ll tell everyone that I’m going to have a baby, and then when you deliver, we’ll raise him as our own.”

Katniss doesn’t understand. The idea sounds too absurd.

“We always wanted another child,” her mother says wistfully. “So we’ve decided that we’ll think of this as a blessing.”

Her father continues to eat in silence, and Katniss can’t look at either of them. She wordlessly stands and goes back to bed, and as she tries to drift off to sleep, she imagines a world where her baby becomes her sister or brother. It’s not right. She may be a child herself and she may not understand much, but she knows this isn’t right, and it’s not what she wants.

Her hand finds the bump underneath her shirt, and as she caresses her skin, she acquiesces.

What she wants no longer matters.

~*~

She’s been forced inside for more than two weeks, and already she feels as if the walls are closing in on her.

She watches as her mother smooths the bunched cloth underneath her dress. “I have to see some patients on the other side of the Seam,” her mother tells her. “I’ll be home before your father is back from work.”

As she’s readying up her kit, there’s a knock at the door. They both flinch in response, each on high alert with their situation. Katniss lies back on the old sofa, now feeling as sick as she’s supposed to be. What if the Capitol changed their mind and think it best to make an example of her instead? She imagines a Peacekeeper on the other side of the door, and her hand clutches her stomach protectively.

She hears a polite, “Hello, Mrs. Everdeen,” and her heart flutters at the sound of Peeta’s voice. About a million thoughts race through her mind, and she holds her breath as she waits for whatever is going to happen next.

“Hello,” her mother replies with confusion.

“I’m Peeta Mellark,” he clarifies. Katniss is hiding against the sofa cushions so she can’t see a thing, but she imagines he’s holding out his hand for her mother to shake. “I go to school with Katniss.”

“Oh.”

“She hasn’t been in class for a couple weeks and everyone is worried about her.”

Everyone. The lie comes so easily. Besides Madge Undersee, Katniss can’t think of another person would even notice her absence, let alone fret over it.

“She’s sick, Peeta,” her mother informs him, and not unkindly. “She’s also highly contagious, so she won’t be returning to school this year.”

“Is she okay?” he asks, and the way his voice breaks with worry fills Katniss with an odd kind of pleasure.

“She’ll be fine, with time.” Katniss imagines that her mother is lovingly rubbing her fake belly as she speaks, hoping that Peeta will spread the word that she seems to be expecting when he returns to school with the news of Katniss’s illness.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks pitifully, and she aches to see him. She has been so intent on punishing herself in the last few months that she hasn’t allowed the luxury of remembering the way it felt to be near him.

“Thank you for asking but no.”

“I can bring her assignments,” he says.

“We’ve already made the necessary arrangements.”

She thinks that her mother is probably inching the door closed, hoping Peeta will take the hint and leave, but Katniss wants him to stay and talk. She wants to listen to his voice forever.

“Is there any way I can see her?” he asks with defeat.

“She’s very contagious, Peeta. We don’t want you to come down with it, too. Thank you for stopping by. When she wakes from her nap, I’ll let her know her friends are thinking about her.”

“Please do,” he says, and then he offers a soft goodbye. Katniss hears the gentle click of the door shutting behind him and she sits upright to find her mother staring back at her.

She knows.

“I won’t tell your father,” she says, grabbing her coat and the kit. “It will only upset him more.”

After her mother leaves, Katniss lowers her head to the pillow and tries to remember the timber of Peeta’s voice. It cocoons her in its warmth like a thick blanket, and it’s still echoing in her mind as she drifts off.

~*~

On one of her hunting outings with her father, some years before, Katniss came upon a live squirrel that was caught in a snare. It dangled from its hind leg and scratched helplessly at the earth, and she took pity on it when she saw its wide, terrified eyes.

Katniss had no qualms with killing the animals they fed on to survive, but she didn’t want to see anything suffering. She wondered how long it had been trapped there, how desperate it must have felt to escape.

She checked behind her shoulder and saw that her father was busy cleaning another kill. Then she released the squirrel from the snare; it scrambled in its escape, not daring to look back as it raced for safety in the trees.

Months pass, and there is no one to set Katniss free.

~*~

The baby kicks at all hours, and Katniss wishes it would stop. She can’t find a comfortable position for sleep, so she stares at the wall and tries to ignore the movement inside of her.

“The baby could come any day now,” her mother tells her one evening as she hums happily.

Her parents have convinced everyone in the Seam that they’re expecting another child this spring, and her mother has a thick pillow she stuffs under her dress every time she leaves the house. Katniss wishes she had the luxury of removing her swollen stomach on a whim, but it’s just another thing she has to learn to accept having no control over.

Peeta hasn’t returned to check in on her, but she thinks about him often. She wonders if he thinks about her as he decorates cakes and hauls sacks of flour from the train. She thinks he probably does, and for some reason it helps her get through her days.

~*~

Any day now.

She’s been hearing it for weeks.

She can hear her parents talking quietly when they think she’s asleep. Katniss is nearly three weeks overdue, and that has her mother worried.

Katniss already spends almost all her time in bed. The old Katniss would have hated being so helpless, but now she can’t muster up any strength to care. Her back and feet ache, her belly is massive. The baby rolls around inside her and Katniss grits her teeth as she waits for it to pass.

“Drink this,” her mother says the next day, handing her some concoction that smells like pine and honey. She does as she’s told and goes back to sleep.

“You need to walk more,” she says later, helping her out of the bed and forcing her to roam the parameter of the living room and kitchen.

“I don’t feel good,” Katniss sighs, her hand on her back as she paces the floor.

“You have to deliver soon,” her mother says, ignoring her. “It’s not good for either of you to go this far along.”

Her father pays a pretty price for some type of oil at the Hob, and her mother forces her to chug it down. It’s so thick in her throat, and she gags several times before she can finish the bottle. The taste lingers on her tongue for hours after, and she loses her meager supper just before bed.

“We’ll walk more,” her mother says the next day, and she doesn’t let go of her hand after helping her from the mattress. “And I’m making a special soup for lunch.”

The soup is liquid fire, and she opens her mouth and pants to release the heat. “The spiciness is good for the baby,” her mother insists, paying no mind as Katniss gulps down a tall glass of water. “We have to try everything we can to stimulate labor.”

~*~

Two weeks after Katniss turns 15, she wakes in the middle of the night, clutching her stomach and calling out to her parents. They’re at her side instantly, her mother smiling in relief as she declares it’s finally time.

As her parents strip the bed, Katniss is nearly incoherent in her pain. She stares up at the ceiling until a spasm passes, and then she tries to hold her breath as she waits for the next one. It comes too soon, and she cries out again, squeezing her mother’s hand.

She begs her father to leave the room as her mother checks her, and he nods sadly as he closes the door behind him to offer her privacy.

“It will be awhile yet,” her mother informs as she removes the rubber glove from her hand. “But it will happen today.”

Minutes pass like hours, and her mother tries to talk her through each contraction, but the pain is unbearable. So Katniss tries to picture the Meadow, imagines the sun shining down on her. It’s been so long since she felt the sun hot on her skin, or smelled fresh air instead of coal dust.

As she thinks about the Meadow, she thinks about Peeta, too. She thinks about their brief times together. It embarrasses her too much to imagine that last time, the reason she’s screaming in agony right now. But she likes to remember the kisses. She misses those. She wants to do it again with him, but she’s scared she’ll never get the chance now.

“It’s time to push,” her mother says long after the sun has set.

She takes a deep breath and bears down, and her mother encourages her as she counts. “Keep going,” she insists. “Just a few more seconds.”

Twenty minutes later, her mother insists it’s almost over. “One final push,” she promises, and it’s the need for it to end that allows Katniss to continue.

A tiny cry fills the room as Katniss collapses back on the mattress. She is trying desperately to catch her breath as she reaches out her hand for the baby her mother is wrapping in a small blanket.

“It’s a girl,” her mother says, smiling down at the bundle. “She’s perfect.”

Katniss stretches her arm as far as she can manage. “Let me hold her.”

Her mother doesn’t seem to hear her plea, and then her father enters the room, and there are tears in his eyes as he takes the infant in his arms. “Oh, she’s beautiful. You did a wonderful job, kitten.”

“Please,” Katniss whispers, her fingers grasping at air.

“We’re going to call her Primrose,” her mother announces. “Primrose Everdeen.”

She watches helplessly as her parents stare down at the baby she hasn’t seen yet, and she already misses the feel of her child kicking inside her. Now her body is hollow.

Her father leaves the room with Primrose as her mother finishes tending to Katniss. After she’s stitched and cleaned, she’s desperate to fall into the abyss of sleep. It’s been her only escape in the past months, and now she needs to run away as far as possible without the use of her feet.

But her mother brings in the baby just as Katniss’s eyes close. “You’ll need to nurse,” she informs her simply. “I’ll show you how.”

She’s exhausted and disoriented as her daughter is placed in her arms, yet completely lucid when she sees her face for the first time. She notices the wisps of blonde hair first, then the pink skin so soft that Katniss loses herself mapping the slope of the baby’s nose with the tip of her finger. Primrose doesn’t flinch at the touch, and Katniss’s heart seizes when she realizes that she wouldn’t because she is the baby’s home.

Was. Was, she reminds herself. She provides the milk now, but soon everyone will think she’s the older sister and nothing more.

She asked months ago if they would keep the truth from the baby, too. Her parents shared a long look before answering solemnly that yes, they would. Of course they would, because anything else is too risky. Besides, they added together, the truth would confuse the child and be too difficult for it to bear. Then they resumed eating their dinner in silence, the effect the lie would have on Katniss never mentioned, if it had even been considered.

Now she holds Primrose against her bare chest as the baby suckles, and in this moment it is only the two of them, despite her parents’ presence and plan.

~*~

Days become weeks, and the baby’s eyes are now a lighter blue than Katniss’s mother’s.

Katniss calls her Prim, not Primrose like her parents. It’s a small rebellion but it feels right to her, and she whispers the nickname softly as the baby feeds.

Nursing is the only time Katniss is allowed to hold her. If she’s not at her breast, then Prim is in another set of arms. But the feeding time is a special moment only the two of them can share, and as the baby’s eyes fall shut, hiding the blue Katniss used to associate with Peeta, she sings to her.

They’re not the songs her father used to sing. They are lullabies she makes up as she studies her daughter’s sweet face. The words come instantly, like they were always there. They either soothe Prim into a deeper, more blissful sleep, or they cause her to wake, her large eyes fluttering open so she can stare back at Katniss.

“I’ll take her now,” her mother says, and then Prim is gone.

~*~

Katniss knows that some women feel different after birth. Their families come to her mother and plea for help because the woman wants nothing to do with her child.

She wishes now she caught whatever they had, whatever made them not care. She wishes she didn’t love Prim, that she couldn’t love her. Or, if her heart still insisted on it, that she loved her like a sister and nothing else.

But Prim is hers. Anything else is unthinkable.

~*~

The next reaping approaches quickly, and if Katniss’s name isn’t drawn, then she’ll return to school after the Games.

Maybe it’d be for the best if she’s picked, she thinks the night before, her finger grasped in Prim’s hand as the baby sleeps after a late night feeding. So she imagines Effie Trinket calling her name, and pictures herself walking onto the stage. She thinks about the train ride to the Capitol, the chariot and the interview, and standing on the platform as time counts down.

She thinks about jumping off early, and exploding to bits but not feeling a thing.

She wouldn’t feel a thing….

“You’ll come straight home, right?” her mother asks that morning as she braids Katniss’s hair.

Katniss stares in the cracked mirror, dazed. She’s wearing the blue dress again. The one she wore last year.

“Maybe,” she says absently, missing her mother’s scowl.

Before they leave for the square, she asks for a moment alone with Prim, and her parents, surprisingly, allow it. So she takes the baby into the bedroom and sits on the edge of the mattress, and Prim gurgles happily as Katniss nuzzles her soft hair.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know,” she whispers, and when she looks down, Prim is smiling up at her. She kicks her legs out and waves her fists, a cooing mass of contentment with no knowledge of how cruel the world can be. Katniss can only hope that things change so she never has to lose such lightness.

“I’m so sorry, Prim.”

~*~

Peeta is there. He has to be. But she can’t handle seeing him so she doesn’t look.

On the stage, Mayor Undersee sits with Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the 50th Hunger Games, and Mal Woodstone, the girl who surprised her entire district with her win the previous year. She stares straight ahead defiantly, looking past the crowd, and Katniss barely recognizes her now as the neighbor she knew before. Haymitch is drunk, as usual, and the mayor appears to be as tired as Katniss feels.

The traditions proceed accordingly, and soon Effie is dipping her hand into the bowl. “Ladies first.”

Katniss waits in silence along with everyone else, and she doesn’t recognize the name that Effie calls, but they all know the frightened cry that follows.

The words are right there, caught in her throat. I volunteer. I volunteer as tribute. She’s screaming them in her mind but when she tries to speak, she can’t.

Then it’s too late, because the girl is on the stage with Effie and she has already moved on in her search for the male tribute. As Effie’s fingers graze the slips of paper in the bowl, her decadently jeweled nails catching someone’s fate, Katniss pleads silently for it to be anyone but Peeta. Anyone.

“Nino Woodstone!”

A shocked gasp ripples through the crowd as Mal processes the name, and then she’s on her feet, her face twisting in anger. Her brother, at his first reaping, marches slowly to Effie, who has a grin frozen on her face but worry in her eyes. Haymitch’s hand is wrapped around Mal’s arm, holding her in place, silently forbidding her from making a scene. He looks shockingly sober as he whispers something in her ear, and then the fight seeps from her as she drops back in her seat.

Katniss needs out, and she just lost her chance. She can’t even sympathize with Mal in this moment because she has no idea what it would feel like to watch your sibling reaped, but she feels a terrible twist in her gut when she looks over and sees the eldest Woodstones quietly crying together as they see another one of their children off to the Games. The odds of a second victory are most definitely not in their favor this time.

As the groups disperse, Katniss turns away from the direction of her family and runs. Once her feet hit the scruffy field, she realizes that this is always where she was going to end up today.

But he’s not there.

She tries to catch her breath as her eyes search the open space, but there’s no sign of him. The last bit of her energy, the thing that carried her here, is zapped from her in that moment, and she falls to the earth in an angry heap.

She claws at the grass, her teeth locked together as a scream builds. She can’t take it. Not another moment of it.

“Katniss?”

Her head lifts at the sound of her name on his lips again, and she turns on the ground and looks up to find him standing over her. He holds his hand out, and she hesitates for only a moment before accepting. As soon as she’s on her feet, she’s in his arms, and she’s sure he’s the one who pulled her to him because she doesn’t remember moving, but it’s just as likely that she did.

“Are you okay?” he asks desperately, clutching her to him like she’s some precious thing he’s terrified of losing.

“No,” she answers weakly, because it’s the truth.

He pulls back to look at her, and there’s so much worry in his eyes. They’re the exact same shade of blue as Prim’s, and it breaks her doubly.

“What is it?” He shakes his head, not understanding, as he looks over her again. She wonders if he notices any of the changes in her body now, like the very subtle curves from carrying Prim, or her fuller breasts that are preparing to feed their child in a few hours. She noticed every difference in him instantly. The broader shoulders, stronger jaw, thicker neck. He’s an inch or two taller as well. But he still has the same expression on his face as he had the last time they met like this. He’s still looking at her like she’s all he can see. “You look healthy,” he tells her, and she supposes she does. She has to eat for Prim to eat, and her parents make sure to take care of their children.

The bitter laugh escapes before she can stop it, and his face falls. “You look perfect,” he amends. “Beautiful.”

She smiles up at him as his hands frame her face, and she feels like she’s floating when she says, “We should run away together.”

“What?”

“We could do it. Slip under the fence and run. Live in the forest. I know how.” She speaks dreamily, but then she really considers it. “We’d have to get Prim first.”

“Who’s Prim?” he asks, and she sobers immediately.

“My sister.”

He’s about to say something or ask something, and she doesn’t want to hear it, so she kisses him instead. He gives in immediately, and then they’re lost in each other as their mouths softly move together. Her thoughts, racing as they are, are first on Prim, and how she can’t take her from her parents now. But they could have another baby, one no one else could ever claim as their own. She would be just like Prim, but theirs this time because Katniss won’t allow anything else.

“Peeta,” she pants as she tears her mouth from his.

“I missed you so much,” he replies before his lips kiss along her jaw. “I couldn’t stand not seeing you, even if we didn’t talk. I hoped every day you’d be back, and you never were.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles before his mouth is pressed against hers again.

“Don’t apologize,” he says when he breaks the kiss, and he looks horrified that she would. “It’s not your fault.”

Oh, but it is. It all is. She can fix that mistake right now, though.

“Touch me,” she begs, pulling at his belt.

His hands cover hers to stop her. “Katniss, no. Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk,” she says, shaking her head. “I want to be with you again.” Her hand slips between them to feel along the front of his pants, and she’s satisfied to find that he still wants her, too.

“Stop it! We have to talk.” He steps back, out of her reach. She hates how sad he looks, but if he’ll just allow it, she can fix everything. They can be a family. “Tell me what’s going on,” he begs. “Please? We can deal with it together.”

She moves in, and he retreats, like a demented dance. Finally he stops fighting it, and she attacks him with her hands and mouth as he stands there helplessly, not returning her kisses but not denying them either.

As her hands run over his chest, he sighs, but it’s not a pleasured sound. “I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help you,” he says. “You’re everything to me, Katniss.”

She pauses for only a moment before pressing her body to his again. “I love you,” he adds, so softly she barely hears it.

But she does hear it, and it wakes her up. Her eyes are wide and shamed when she finally looks up at him, and then she’s stumbling back, realizing all she’s done to him and how she’ll never, ever deserve that love.

“Katniss?” he asks, panicked.

She turns and runs again, as fast as she can. “Katniss!” he calls, running after her.

He’s closing in, so she pushes herself to go faster, hoping he’ll give up when they’re near her home in the Seam.

He does, slowing once their feet hit the dirt road. She’s limp with exhaustion, so she slows, too. Or maybe she just wants him to catch her.

“Please stop running from me,” he begs.

She wants to. She wants to stop running, and she wants to stop lying. She wants a lot of things, but she can’t have any of them. So she takes a deep breath and launches into another sprint.

He doesn’t follow her this time.

~*~

Something’s off. It’s what her mother kept saying before they found out Katniss was pregnant, but it’s never been truer than it is now.

Something’s off with Katniss. She’s there but she’s not really there.

She’s not really there as her parents lecture her when she returns home that evening.

She’s not really there as Nino is killed in the bloodbath in the 73rd Hunger Games.

She’s not really there at home, where her parents are encouraging Prim to say mama and dada.

She’s not really there at school, where Peeta will not meet her eyes.

And she’s not really there when the mines explode, taking her father with them. She’s not really there as she holds Prim in the Justice Building to receive the medal of valor in honor of his death.

She’s not really there as her mother slips away again, further out of reach than last time because now there is no hope her father will return to them.

She’s not really there as the last of their food is eaten, as the last of their payout from the mines is spent.

But the night Prim cries without tears, Katniss is there. She can’t remember the last time she was able to feed her, and there’s no milk left in her own frail body, but she will not stand by as her child starves.

“It’ll be okay, Prim,” she promises as she gives the baby water. There’s no reason to believe it, but as she looks down at her innocent face, she know she’ll make it true.

tbc


End file.
